


Not Intended For Public Consumption

by Anonymous



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Choking, Dirty Talk, Do Not Archive, F/F, Finger Sucking, Fingering, Threats of Violence, interplay of sex and violence, one tiny death threat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-22 02:55:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13754775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "Tell me everything you want to do to me." So Mary does.





	Not Intended For Public Consumption

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you brought your handbaskets, kiddos, cuz we are going directly to hell.

There's so much to be done, constantly, that most times the thought of languishing in some kind of afterglow with Mary Keay was simply out of the question. Sex with Mary was quick and usually at least a little brutish; it was efficient more than it was anything else. Not that either of them were particularly predisposed to romance and affection, Gertrude supposed, and particularly not with each other. In any case, Mary lounging around afterwards in Gertrude's flat was a rarity, and it made Gertrude feel a bone-deep strangeness that it took her a few moments to understand:

 

She wasn't satisfied.

 

That isn't to say she hadn't come--Mary Keay was a great many things, not all of them positive, but selfish in bed was not one of them--only that none of the tension had left her body, she still felt wired and restless, she wanted something _more._

 

So she clicked on the tape recorder.

 

Mary turned to her, one eyebrow arching sharply, her lips parted in the start of some clever comment, but Gertrude cut her off:

 

"Tell me everything you want to do to me."

 

It was a satisfying thing, seeing Mary caught off-guard. It happened so rarely.

 

"Oh, are you quite sure about that, Archivist?" she asked, in a voice leaden with honey and poison. "There's quite a lot."

 

"You can take your time, dear."

 

"Oh, and I _will,"_ Mary said, crawling up Gertrude's body in order to corner her up against the headboard, one hand closing around her wrist and the other grasping her jaw, just barely too tightly. "Hours of it-- _days._ Ooh, I could spend years picking you apart if you let me." She chuckled, and Gertrude tried to hide the shudder than ran through her at the sound of it. "Or even if you _don't."_

 

Mary pressed her thumb into the swell of Gertrude's lower lip, coaxing her mouth open; she ran her fingertips over her teeth, as if she were counting them, then pinched her tongue cruelly between two fingers. Gertrude made an affronted noise, heat flooding her face.

 

"I'd bite this out, to start with," Mary crooned. "Keep you nice and quiet while I work."

 

Gertrude jerked her head away, licking her lips as Mary released her. "You'd miss it if it were gone," she said; her voice trembled, just slightly, and Mary _grinned,_ shark-like.

 

"Maybe," she said, her voice lilting like a song. "Maybe I wouldn't bite it out. Maybe I'd leave it so I could listen to you beg." Her hands started to wander, but Gertrude scarcely even noticed; she was too focused on her words. "I could skin you, of course. I've gotten so very good at it, and if the scalpel were sharp enough you'd barely even register it as pain. (Although what's the fun in that...)"

 

Gertrude inhaled sharply as Mary sank two fingers into her with no warning. She was slower than she usually was, more indulgent, pumping in and out of her with torturous intent; before long, Gertrude was shaking, teetering on the edge of orgasm, her back arching off the headboard even as Mary pinned her wrist more tightly against it.

 

And then Mary pulled away, leaving Gertrude to twist and growl bit-off curses at her. She laughed, cruel and pleased, and pressed her sopping fingers to Gertrude's lips. Gertrude contemplated biting them, but settled for glaring as she sucked them into her mouth.

 

"I don't know if I quite want to skin you, though," Mary said contemplatively. "Perhaps just a piece--it's silly and sentimental, of course, but forgive me my moments of romanticism." She suddenly shoved her fingers roughly down Gertrude's throat, and, gagging, Gertrude _did_ bite her then.

 

"Truly, you are a romantic at heart," Gertrude said as Mary pulled away. Her voice was rough at the edges, from both sarcasm and the sudden intrusion.

 

"Of course, dear." Mary's hands wandered again. "Perhaps I could put the scalpel to some better use. Carve you up a bit. Lick away the blood to keep the sheets clean. Leave pretty patterns in your skin for you to touch, late at night while I'm away." Her fingers just barely traced something into the skin of Gertrude's thigh, a pale imitation of what she was suggesting but enough to make her muscles tense, her breath come faster. "Should I tie you down? Or would I rather still your struggling myself?" Mary mused. "Both very appealing prospects, I must say--do you have a preference?"

 

It took a moment for the question to register. "Wh-what?" Gertrude stammered, trying to still her hips and focus. "I--I want--"

 

"Oh come now, you've brought this on yourself. Try to pay attention at least."

 

"You're _distracting,"_ Gertrude snapped. Then, with no less venom in her tone: "I'd want you to tie me up."

 

"Kinky," Mary said, in such a mundane and offhanded deadpan that Gertrude couldn't hold back a laugh. "I'll truss you up, then. I am quite good at knots, you know. Should I blindfold you as well? Cover up those inquisitive eyes of yours? Yes, I think so." Mary reached up then, covering Gertrude's eyes with a palm until she felt them flutter shut. "Good girl," she purred. In the dark, Gertrude could feel Mary's hands all the more keenly, sometimes scratching, sometimes pinching, sometimes barely there at all. Her skin was hot, and Gertrude could almost imagine that she was branding her, leaving visible, bubbling burns for all the world to see.

 

"Have you ever been vivisected?" Mary asked, running the palm of her hand along Gertrude's belly. "No, I imagine not. Plenty of scars, but nothing quite that impressive." She traced a Y-shaped path along Gertrude's torso. "I think I could manage that. Would you like that? To feel my hands dancing along your living viscera? What do your lungs taste like, I wonder? What would your exposed heart look like when I made you come, over and over and over again?"

 

"Oh, _God--"_

 

"Sshh..." Mary pressed a leg between Gertrude's thighs, giving her something to thrust up against. "Or perhaps I could simply drown you? Not quite as dramatic, of course, but lack of oxygen to the brain does astounding things. And you'd make quite the pretty sight, bent over a bathtub while you clenched around my entire hand."

 

_"Touch me,"_ Gertrude hissed. "For God's sake, Mary, I--"

 

"Hush," Mary said sharply. "You wanted to know everything I wanted to do to you, you can at the very least be patient while I give you a partial list." Gertrude groaned through clenched teeth. "I have to say, this is certainly climbing a few spots." Gertrude could see the smug smirk on her face, even as her eyes remained obediently closed. "Of course, what I think I'd like best is to use my hands."

 

And then Mary's hands were at her throat, not pressing, not choking, not yet. Just there, just the lightest bit of pressure; Gertrude brought her own hands up to cling to her wrists, though she kept her eyes closed. "What a wonder that would be," Mary whispered, leaning in so her breath tickled Gertrude's ear. "To feel your fluttering pulse slow and fade under my palms." She _squeezed._ "To watch you go blue in the lips. To watch you _die,_ Archivist."

 

Gertrude cried out, her voice strangled and small, coming against Mary's thigh, her hips stuttering. For half a second she thought Mary wasn't going to let her go, was going to follow through on her wine-sweet threats--but no, she eased off once Gertrude went limp on the mattress. She smiled serenely as Gertrude pressed the tips of her fingers to her throat. "There may be some bruising," she said airily. "You've had worse. Better now?"

 

Gertrude opened her eyes, staring up at the ceiling as she took in heaving gasps of air. "Yes," she said. She sounded...well, like she'd just been strangled. "Yes, I think so."

 

"Excellent," Mary said, and leaned over to click off the tape recorder.


End file.
